Finals Week

I want it to be over...for there not to be any more tests, no more studying, memorizing, none of that. I'm tired of it. I don't know why I had to choose the career I did...it's forever. And I'm making it take extra long, why? Because I don't do my work like I should. I know I CAN do it, I just DON'T. And then when the grades come back it seems like I can't. I don't think I was cut out for studying. I'm too flippant. I dream too much.

I should have been a writer.

I could sit in front of my desk whenever I wanted, and paint pictures with words all day long. (gosh, I hate how cliche that sounds). I could live in my own world.

Well. I already do, but at least my grades wouldn't suffer for it.

Sometimes I wish that I could take drastic measures....I'm so frustrated on the inside, but no one ever sees it. Hardly, anyway. It only comes out in my being snippy to my family.
Wouldn't it be easier to destroy myself?
But that would have the opposite effect. I'd ruin my family...all they've worked for. Their lives would be in vain.

Then what good would I be?

Instead, I take it out in other ways. But the relief is only temporary. No, I don't cut myself...so stop thinking that. Although I have thought about it. But it'd be useless. Pointless.

So I don't.

Can't I find some way to just do what I have to? Everyone else can. And it seems like those who can't, drop out of college.

Like Kanye West.

But look at him now...he's a millionaire.

And where am I?
In my bedroom, curled up on my couch with my books beside me, blogging away about how miserable I feel.

I haven't even worked on my novels in months.
Because of stupid school.

I haven't even done well in most of my classes this semester.
Because of stupid novels.

I seem to have reached an impasse.

See? Writing things out is good. I have no choice but to follow the logical conclusion at the end of it all.

I will study.

The Inked Heart

They do not understand
They cannot understand
The night sky falling beneath my fingers
Dark clouds illuminated by the light of a lone star
As I trace the pattern of a slumbering world

They will not understand
They would not understand
The shape of a sound breaking over water
Curved melodies snaking around my waist
As I eke out the rhythm of a beating heart

They shall not understand
They’ll never understand
The form of a vowel upon the point
Upon the sharp point of ink and graphite
Upon the sharp point of wit and tongue

It is mine
It is mine alone, and yet it is ours
It belongs to us

But I understand, you understand
Yes, we live to understand
The beauty of the unwritten, unspoken, uncreated
It is true, I live to understand
The pattern that is inked upon my living, beating heart.

The Cookie Cutter

its already over
when you open your eyes
and see what you wanted to see
only you didn't, really
so you pick up the silver metal thing
thats twisted into all sorts of ugly shapes
only you think they're beautiful
(I think they're beautiful.)
And you stand before the glass
and close your eyes
memorize the image that you see
the image that the ugly beautiful metal thing
will make you into
when you press it against your skin
because your own image is never good enough
says the manufacturers
the manufacturers of that beautifully ugly shaped
metal thing
that will make you beautiful (ugly)
when you press it into your skin.
(When I press it into my skin.)
So you stand before the glass
and bend.
You bend and twist and contort yourself
until you match the image
that you wanted to see
only you don't, really.
What's wrong with you? Try harder
press harder
until the blood runs
trickles down
and your vision is obscured
(until my vision is obscured)
and I can no longer see
until you can no longer see
the real image..
There is only the metal..the one bent
and cut by the metal into the perfect
into the perfect cookie cutter image
the beautiful (ugly) cookie cutter image
that you are convinced is you.
So you lie in bed..every night you lie in bed and pretend
and I lie in bed and pretend (I lie)
every night I lie in bed
and pretend to be me.

you write like dark poetry

I was browsing through a Norwegian architecture magazine and came across this quote; I instantly fell in love.

'We walked backwards into the future
and no one understood what we said
and we leapt through the centuries
but no one heard if we were approaching
or withdrawing...'
-by Tone Hødnebø

What does it mean to you?

Untitled.

Sometimes I don't enjoy my life.

The Poem of Enjambment

draw

a whistle

let there be color

or a blank slate.

tell the paper instead

admissions of your week

eked out in ink or pencil.

illness cannot last

still your heart will

illuminate the unobtainable

letting out the indomitable

letters of the spirit...

it was foretold that

at the end of us

usurped though we may be

because of the light in you

our hearts will still

illuminate our world.

** Enjambment means letting one line flow over into the next; not ending a sentence on just one line of a poem. I've taken this and tweaked it so that the last two letters of each line are the first two letters of the first word on the next line! Enjoy!